Chapter 367: Broken in the Arena

Death.

It wasn’t an unusual concept. Mortals died all the time, and the gods didn’t give a shit.

But a god dying was a different story.

A death trial was rare, super rare. Most gods avoided it like a plague. Why? Because death was permanent. A dead god was gone, forever.

But the rules were the rules, and Morgana was not afraid of a little death.

The coliseum shook with deafening roars, and the crowd went mad, cheering, chanting the names of the combatants. The cries of countless gods echoed like thunder trapped inside the obsidian bowl of the Arena.

“DEATH!… DEATH!….DEATH!” The word still hung in the air, reverberating through the divine marble pillars, repeated like a curse by the Crimson Legion that manifested at Morgana’s back.

The crowd erupted into chaos.

“She’s insane!”

“A Bronze-rank Sex Goddess, declaring death against a God of War?!”

“Does she have a death wish?!”

“Wrong! She’s a goddess of war, too!”

Some shouted in fury, others in awe, and many simply gawked, too stunned to understand what they were witnessing.

But the herald did not flinch.

At the Norse side of the Arena, the gods of Odin’s pantheon howled with savage glee, their voices rising like a storm. Yet even their bloodlust was tinged with unease as the shadow of Morgana’s crimson army loomed.

Vili, the red-bearded war god, tightened his grip on his axe, the veins bulging across his forearms. His grin faltered for the first time. His instincts screamed at him. This wasn’t like the usual Bronze-rank fodder he was used to butchering. This woman reeked of something wrong. Something vast. Something far more dangerous than her rank suggested.

Something twisted.

Still, pride locked him in place. The eye of Odin was on him. He could not falter. Or Helheim would be his fate.

He turned his gaze toward the Norse King, awaiting orders. But none came. Odin simply stared. Silent. Calm. But beneath that serene mask lurked a storm.

BOOM!

The golden herald slammed his staff, the sound of metal echoing across the Arena, demanding silence.

“The trial has been declared,” he thundered. “Combat to the death. No rules. No limitations. Only victory.”

“I assume you two are ready?” he asked, seeking confirmation.

“I’m always ready to fuck an ass,” Morgana smirked, her eyes turning toward the bearded god who was clearly trembling.

“FUCK YOU!” Vili’s eyes glowed like embers, his veins pulsing along his scarred arms, the muscles rippling as he swung his axe off his shoulder. His voice shook the Arena. “So be it! To the death, slut! I’ll paint these stones with your blood!”

The crowd cheered his bravado, the chant of “VILI! VILI! VILI!” returning with renewed fury. The ground rumbled beneath their feet, the coliseum walls shuddering from the force of their voices.

Yet none were louder than Odin, the god-king of the Norse pantheon.

He had been sitting in silence the whole time, but his voice broke through the clamor like the roar of a storm.

“BRING ME THE VALKYRIE!”

His cry was an echo of his will, the words carrying far more meaning than they should. The air hummed with power, the runes on his spear blazing to life.

“You will not have her.”

But Morgana only smiled. Slow. Sinful. Her crimson eyes gleamed with hunger, her silver hair whipping in the aura of her own unleashed divinity. She raised her hand—and the Crimson Legion behind her slammed their weapons in unison.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

The sound of a thousand war drums beating against the very hearts of the gods watching.

Even Odin leaned forward in his wooden throne, his single eye narrowing. He had seen countless wars, countless gods rise and fall. But the divinity that radiated from this goddess… It was not normal. It was not Bronze-tier. It was not even something that could be faked. It was a domain.

“Morgana…” Odin muttered, his voice low. “Just what in Hel are you?”

“Hahahah!” Morgana laughed, her smile widening into a shark-toothed grin, the bloodlust in her eyes growing by the second.

“Mwaaah!” She tilted her head, blowing a mocking kiss toward the Norse king’s balcony. “Don’t worry, All-Father. I’ll take good care of your boy.”

“Fighters! Prepare!” The golden herald boomed. His voice thundered through the Arena, commanding silence. He raised his staff, the sun catching its tip, reflecting its light like a beacon.

Morgana licked her lips. Her fingers twitched, a faint glow appearing at the tips. Her aura blazed around her, hot and hungry. She glanced up, meeting the eyes of her opponent, her mouth curving into a taunting smirk. She was unarmed, and her Crimson Legion suddenly disappeared. It was just a show. She didn’t need them to teach Vili a lesson.

Don’t poke a horny futa goddess.

“FIGHT!”

BOOOM!

The staff slammed into the Arena floor, its sound resonating like a gong, a shockwave of energy exploding from the impact.

“ARGHHHAAA!!” Vili roared, charging like a thunderstorm, his axe swinging with the force to split mountains. Sparks of golden war-energy surged around him, the battlefield itself trembling at his approach.

However…

“Eh?” He blinked and found a red palm right before his face.

The next thing Vili knew, the world was upside-down. His body was airborne, his axe slipping from his fingers before he even realized what had happened.

BAAAM!

He hit the ground like a sack of meat, the stone floor cracking beneath the weight of his massive body. Dust plumed, the crowd fell silent for a heartbeat.

“What just happened?” someone in the crowd whispered.

“She… She just…” another stuttered.

“How the fuck?!”

“I didn’t see anything!”

Morgana hadn’t moved an inch from where she stood. She simply flexed her magic, crimson sparks dancing around her fingers like hungry serpents.

“Pathetic,” she purred, stepping forward. Her bare foot crunched over the cracks he left in the solid floor. “You call yourself a God of War? You’re not even a warm-up.”

Vili roared, forcing himself up, blood running from his mouth. Shame burned hotter than pain. He grabbed for his axe—

Thud!

“AHHHHH!” His scream tore the sky.

Morgana’s clawed fingers sliced through his arm at the elbow like it was butter. Golden blood sprayed in a glorious arc across the Arena, splattering onto the stones.

The crowd erupted. Shock, horror, awe. Some gods gasped, others cheered, and many couldn’t tear their eyes away. Especially some low-rank gods, they felt… refreshed seeing a god from a higher-rank pantheon suffering.

“YOU BITCH!!” Vili bellowed, stumbling back, his face turning pale. The loss of a limb was agony, but the loss of his war-axe was worse for a god of war like him.

“Mmm. Not bad for a divine blood.” Morgana licked her lips, her crimson eyes glowing. “But you’ll scream prettier if I balance it out.”

Thud!

His other arm fell.

The Red-Beard collapsed to his knees, roaring like a wounded beast. His body trembled, sweat pouring down his scarred skin.

The Norse gods in the stands rose to their feet in shock, some shouting, others shaking their heads. Even Odin’s single eye widened, his knuckles white around his spear.

“MORGANA!!!” he thundered. His voice shook the entire coliseum.

But she didn’t even glance at him. She was too busy smiling down at his prized war god.

“Oh, don’t worry, All-Father.” She raised her bloodstained hands, crimson light searing into Vili’s wounds. Flesh bubbled, bones cracked, the arms regrew in a storm of agonizing screams. “I’m not done with him yet.”

The gods froze. She was healing him with blood magic.

And then—

Thud! Thud!

Both legs were gone. Vili hit the ground face-first, spitting blood, clawing at the stones as if he could crawl away.

The crowd went insane. Half-horrified, half-euphoric, the Arena split into madness.

“Impossible!”

“She’s regenerating him just to butcher him again!”

“That’s not a fight—it’s torture!”

“Get up, Viking.” Morgana’s crimson aura flared like wildfire, her voice sultry and cruel. “You wanted to fight to the death, didn’t you? Then fight.”

Vili’s newly healed legs trembled as he rose, his face drenched in sweat, eyes bloodshot with rage and terror. He grabbed his axe with shaking hands, teeth bared.

“DIE!” he bellowed, swinging with everything he had.

CLANG!

Morgana caught the blade in one hand. One hand. The shockwave split the Arena floor, dust billowing around them. The gods watching gasped as the goddess of Sex and War casually wrenched the weapon from his grip, tossing it aside like a child’s toy.

“Too slow,” she whispered.

SLICE!

His arms came off again.

“AHHHH!” Vili fell, shrieking, blood pouring into rivers that stained the stones golden.

Morgana crouched beside him, tilting her head, her silver hair brushing his bloodied beard. She ran her tongue across his cheek, tasting his despair.

“Mmm. Delicious.” She raised her hand again, crimson magic flaring. His wounds closed, his limbs returned.

And then—

SLICE! SLICE! SLICE!

Arms. Legs. Arms again. The cycle continued. Each time he screamed louder, each time his pride shattered further, until the God of War looked less like a warrior and more like prey.

The gods of the Nexus watched in silence now. Even the chanting stopped. No one dared speak. No one dared breathe. They were witnessing something no god had seen in eons: a Bronze-tier goddess torturing a war-god like a plaything.

And Morgana loved every second.

Each time she severed him, each time she restored him, his war cries grew weaker. His voice cracked, turning from rage to whimpers, from fury to broken sobs.

The Norse God of War was kneeling before her like livestock waiting to be slaughtered.

“P-please…” His voice was hoarse, trembling, the taste of ash and blood heavy on his tongue. His once-proud hands trembled as they clutched the ground. “Enough…”

“Enough?” Morgana tilted her head, silver hair cascading over one glowing crimson eye. She crouched low until her lips brushed his ear. Her voice was sweet as poisoned honey.

“Oh, Vili. There’s never enough.”

However, this time Morgana’s claws slipped not for his flesh this time—but for his armor.

RIIIIP!

Leather, iron, divine runes—torn away like paper.

In an instant, Vili stood naked before the entire Nexus, his body exposed under the merciless light of the coliseum. His muscles still bulged with the might of a war god, scarred from centuries of battle, but all of it meant nothing. His trembling knees, his sweat-stained brow, his ragged breath. Every god there could see the truth: he was broken.

The crowd gasped, the noise cutting like a blade through the Arena.

“She stripped him—!”

“By the gods…”

“Humiliation on top of torture…!”

Even the gods who had cheered for his victory turned pale. Pride was one thing. But this… this was worse than death.

“Ahhh…” Morgana licked her lips, her crimson eyes running over him like a predator savoring her meal. “There’s a nice view. Tell me, Norse boy… Do you feel mighty now? Do you feel like Odin’s chosen? Or just another toy for me to play with?”

She then slowly turned, locking her eyes with Odin’s good eye. The All-Father was seething in rage. If not for the Nexus’s rules, he would have jumped into the Arena, killing her on the spot.

Sadly, he couldn’t. But one thing was for sure.

He was not happy, and Morgana just made from an entire Norse pantheon, an enemy.

But she didn’t care; that wasn’t important for Morgana at the moment. What she really wanted was…

“Show me your ass.” She grinned, pulling from her inventory a nice 20-inch pink dildo. “I’m going to ravage it till you can’t even think about your god-king’s name.”

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